


Two pieces of the same whole

by ElenyasBlood



Series: Chubby Verse [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Body Worship, Bullying, Confessions, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Trauma, M/M, Teenage!Sam, Weechesters, chubby!Sam, insecure!Sam
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-22
Updated: 2014-10-22
Packaged: 2018-02-22 05:17:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2495843
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElenyasBlood/pseuds/ElenyasBlood
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean has a surprise for his little brother and Sam has some issues.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Two pieces of the same whole

Sam was sitting on the small sofa in front of the TV when Dean approached him after dinner. The screen flickered with the nasty thunderstorm going on outside the sleazy motel room and crude lightning flashes painted the dusty wall papers in bright whites.

“Whatcha doin' yo?” Dean asked, eyes swiping over his little brother's resting silhouette. It was cool inside and half of the blind, creaky windows were leaking crisp night air into the motel room. Sam was wearing his favorite sweater, an old knitted thing, worn thin around the elbows and with holes poking through the beat-up loops.

The boy tilted his head towards his brother. “Dude, what does it look like?”

Rumbling thunder above their heads swallowed Dean's curt reply and after a few beats of silence the older boy flopped down next to Sam, making the hot tea in the younger boy's mug slosh dangerously close to the rim.

“I got something for you,” Dean tried again after following the show quietly for a few minutes. Rain was drumming on the roof, pelting down the windows and painting the outside world in swampy greens and grays.

Tearing his eyes away from the flickering screen, Sam turned around slightly. “Yeah?” There was a hint of excitement in his voice, adorable dimples popping when he smiled slightly.

“Yeah,” Dean breathed as he fumbled with his pockets, fishing a chocolate and peanut butter bar out of the depths of his jeans. It was a little roughed-up, the candy probably somewhat melted from the heat of his skin but it would do. “A guy at school was dealing with some stuff and I know you love them. Cost me three .45 bullets.”

There was a moment of silence, only the noise of the TV and the rolling thunder interrupting their quiet breathing. Sam's eyes grew wide as he stared at the candy bar in his brother's hand and his fingers went tight around the porcelain mug in his lap.

Then he shook his head. “Thanks but no thanks, Dean,” he mumbled quietly before turning around again, pretending to focus on the stupid TV show.

Flicking his tongue, Dean eyed his brother cautiously. “You sick, Sammy?” he asked incredulously, the chocolate still resting in his open palm. “You never turn one of these down; they're your favorite.”

Sam nodded. “Yeah, but I'm just... not hungry right now, okay?”

“It's just a snack, buddy.” Dean objected. Not quite sure what was going on but determined to find out, he tried logic. Something was off, he could definitely tell from the way Sam ducked his head in an attempt to hide his eyes behind those shaggy bangs exactly the way he did when Dad was around.

Sighing, Sam shook his head again. “No,” he insisted after taking a long sip of his tea. “'M not hungry.”

“C'mon Sammy, it's not like I'm offering you a fucking bowl of pasta after we just had dinner. It's just a freaking candy bar. You can keep it for later?” Dean suggested, his eyes never leaving Sam's face. The boy's cheeks were flaming red by now, his skin flushed and the gentle curve of his lips was quivering in distress.

Sam didn't bother to answer again. He didn't look at his brother either, just kept staring ahead wordlessly.

“Hey, you with me?” Dean asked. Suddenly the silence was keyed up, both their bodies ready to make a move. “I thought you liked those? They're you're fav–“

“Yes, they're my favorites! No, I'm not hungry! I don't want it, okay? Got it?” Sam cut in, agitated, his voice high-pitched and his knuckles turning white with the tight grip he had on the mug. With his legs crossed and slumped all into himself, he appeared so much smaller than usual, no sign of the fierce, smart thirteen-year-old with uncontrollable grow spurts and awkward, gangly limbs, only the soft silhouette of his slightly rounded belly and chubby, tender cheeks instead.

“You sure you okay, Sammy?” Dean asked carefully into the silence that ensued, eyes glued to the boy's flared nostrils and his working throat. Why did the mention of a simple freaking chocolate bar upset his little brother in a way that had his skin flushing and his eyes watering?

“Yeah.”

A heavy sigh fell from Dean's lips. “Dude, your lies smell worse than your feet.”

Sitting up, he pushed a little closer to Sam's crouched down form, crowding into his space ever so slightly.

“I'm not lying,” Sam snapped. “I just. Don't. Want. Your. Fucking. Candy, all right? Do you have issues with your hearing?”

“Nope, my ears are just fine. But you, little brother, are not. And I wanna know what's wrong!” Dean replied, voice even.

Howling, the storm pushed through the window panels again and Sam curled deeper into his sweater, face pressed into the collar. Jolts of flashing, white light danced across the walls and thunder, even louder than the steady noise of the TV, rumbled in their ears.

“Now, what's going on?” Dean tried again after Sam refused to reply for a good two minutes. He was close, his body warm against his little brother's side, his voice soft as he spoke. “Having trouble at school?”

Sam shook his head.

“Someone stole one of your precious books, little nerd?”

“Shut up, jerk,” Sam mumbled, giving another little shake. “No.”

Sighing, Dean bit his lip thoughtfully. “Dad?”

“No. Just... drop it, Dean.”

Worrying his lower lip between blunt teeth, Dean didn't even consider that option. Sam was upset. He was angry, and the frustration came off him in thick, suffocating waves.

“Is this about a girl?”

The snort Sam let out was ugly. “Yeah, sure,” he spat, before curling further into himself, a pair of shaking hands securely wrapped around the now empty mug, his chin resting on his chest. He looked so young like this, vulnerable, scared.

“For fuck's sake, Sammy, what is it? Talk to me,” Dean snapped. “I just wanna help. I understand that you don't want the fucking candy bar okay, I get it. 'M not gonna push it. But if you're planning on sulking the whole evening than I'm not okay with it.”

“No need to yell,” Sam mumbled and for the first time his voice was thick with tears like something had crawled up his throat, clogging it, slowly choking him.

Dropping the chocolate pointedly on the coffee table, Dean sighed again. “I don't get you, little brother.”

Sam's reply came immediately. “Same,” he croaked, then turned to face his brother. “I-It's about this.”

Dean's eyes went wide when he realized that Sam was pointing at the soft, round shape of his belly, the thing Dean loved most about his little brother. Besides his razor-sharp mind of course. And his dimpled smile. Yeah, that was what he loved the most.

“It's about your stomach?” he asked incredulously. “You have tummy ache? Is this why you only had two spoons full of pasta for dinner?”

Sam's sigh was almost exasperated. “No, Dean,” he groaned, then slumped deeper into the cushions and his sweater as if he hoped he would melt into the fabric if he only tried hard enough. “'S complicated, okay? It's... it's about me being... 's 'bout me being _fat_.”

The boy's voice was so small, his face so red, his body so tiny all curled into itself, Dean felt like a clumsy, clueless idiot when he leaned in with a heavy sigh.

“Come again?” he whispered softly.

“I'm fat, Dean. I'm... look at me.”

“Who said that?”

Sam's sigh was now a sob. “No one. But I can see it. I know it, everyone knows it. Dad, Uncle Bobby, you, me–”

“So that's why you don't want the freaking candy bar, huh?”

Nodding, Sam pressed his nose into the collar of his sweater, soaking the knit wear with the quiet tears that prickled down his cheeks. “They make me fat, Dean. Fat and ugly. No one wants a _fat_ friend. Or a _fat_ hunter.”

Dean was about to object, but Sam just talked over him.

“Have you ever seen a fat hunter, Dean? Don't lie to me, I know you haven't. I'm slow. I can't run as fast as you and Dad and I lose my breath easily. I... my thighs are flabby and my belly is fat and wobbly and I'm just _too much_. I–“

“Can it,” Dean cut in sharply, eyes wild with fury and face twisted in anger. The grief his brother was smothering him with was suffocating and so all-engulfing it made Dean gag on his every breath.

This wasn't okay. This wasn't something a thirteen year old should have to deal with. Couldn't Sam see how perfect he was? That he didn't need to be a runner or a hunter or a killer?

“But Dean, it's _true_.”

“Yeah, it may be, but that's not the only truth, Sammy. I don't know who put that mindfuck in your head, but it sure as hell ain't gonna stay there, you hear me? You're not being fair with yourself there, all right?”

Uncurling himself a little, Sam bit his quivering lips with a sob. “Meaning?”

“First off: I've seen hunters in all forms and shapes and I can assure you that every single one of them kicks ass. It's not about the survival of the fittest, buddy. Hunting is about knowing your strengths and using them for your strategical advantage. Look at Uncle Bobby, the way he moves and fights– have you ever doubted him?”

“No, but–“

“What about me? Do you doubt my skill just because I'm not as tall as Dad? Or as strong? Do you think I'm less of a hunter because I've never killed a vampire with my bare hands like Rufus did?”

Sam shook his head. The thunderstorm was still going strong outside the motel room and even inside they could feel the air stirring with electricity.

“See? You're smart Sammy– damn, you're a fucking genius. I've never seen someone work as quick and efficient as you do. Hell, you can reload a gun in no time. You're good, Sammy, very fucking good. What does it matter that you're not in as good of shape as Dad is?”

Sam shrugged wordlessly.

“And as for the second part: You're not fat. I don't know what you see when you look in the mirror, but you're sure as hell ain't fat. You're only thirteen, you giant baby. 'S normal that you're a little soft around the edges. Just the way you were when I carried you out of that damned fire.”

Sniffling, Sam dragged his sleeve over his hot little face, smearing snot and tears into the beat-up fabric as he shrugged. “It's just that everyone says that there's no place for a fat hunter. Or a fat friend.” He hiccupped violently. “I... I hear them talking at school, Dean, hear them talking behind my back. They laugh at me.”

“And? What's it to you? They're just trash and tomorrow we'll be outta here–“

“They cat-call every time I eat in the cafeteria. Or when I'm having a candy bar. Like I don't deserve lunch because I'm already like _this_.”

Dean could feel his heart missing one beat then another and probably a couple thousand more before cramping together in his chest. The sorrow on Sam's face was crippling, his despair almost palpable in the thick air between them. Tears, hot and heavy, were rolling down his round cheeks and his foxy eyes were glazed over with a feverish grief.

Reaching out for Sam, Dean finally gave in to the aching need to touch and comfort and reassure his little brother and with a heavy sigh and next to no effort he pulled Sam's soft, warm body into his lap.

“And? You like candy, that's okay. It's okay to like things, Sammy. It's okay to have something that makes you happy,” he mumbled against the top of his brother's head, dropping his mouth against the chestnut brown hair. “We're hunters, Sam. Our lives are already hard enough and come to think about it, you and me, we're probably not gonna last long anyway. So why not try to have a little fun in the meantime, huh?”

Sam didn't answer, but from the way his body went soft against his brother's, Dean could tell that he was listening. And that he _understood_. Of course he did, he was smarter than Dad and Bobby and Rufus and everyone else, after all.

“Do you really believe in what you're saying?” A timid voice asked after a minute of shared silence.

Dean huffed out a short laugh. “That we're gonna be shark food soon? Yeah, probably.”

Sam's protest was weak, his body heavy against Dean's chest as he slumped down. The boy's skin was warm, practically burning, his limbs awkwardly tangled around Dean. Sam's face was pushed flush against Dean's neck as Dean tucked his brother’s head under his chin and the older boy could feel the wetness of Sam's tears, the plush shape of his mouth against his throat.

“That's not what I meant, jerk,” Sam mumbled with a voice rough from crying. “I meant... that I'm... okay like _this_?”

“Mh, Sammy. You're not just okay. You're perfect.” Dean hummed, smiling into the Sam's hair. “I said it once, I'll say it again now and I'll say it every damn morning and in the freaking evenings too if need be: you're beautiful. My beautiful little brother. _My_ Sammy.”

Snuffling quietly, Sam's body quivered under Dean's touch.

“You think I'm lying, buddy?” Dean uttered into the soft chestnut strands. “You don't believe me, huh? Lemme show you then.”

Untangling himself from Sam's fervid body, Dean snatched the mug from his little brother's grip before pushing him back into the cushions.

Eyeing him intensely, Dean bent down until the tip of his nose almost touched Sam's. “I like that I can do _this–_ ” he mumbled and softly pinched the boy's right cheek before poking the tip of his finger into the forming dimple– “and I can only do it because your cheeks are so round.”

“Dean, c'mon, I'm not a toddler anymore,” Sam protested weakly, but giggled when Dean did it again with the other cheek.

“I love your dimples. They're almost cute, you little cockroach,” Dean continued, pressing his nose into the small dents briefly before moving on to Sam's chin and neck.

“I like how soft your skin is,” he breathed, pushing his face flush against his brother's neck. “Right here– it's the perfect pillow. You're like my own, personal cushion, okay?”

Chuckling, Sam nodded. “Yeah.”

“Let me take this off to make some more room for what's important,” Dean spoke as he slid down further, hands tugging the knitted sweater off his brother's chest and over his head.

Laying there in nothing but one of Dean's worn thin shirts, Sam felt oddly exposed and with a shiver he watched his brother's pupils dilate, the mossy green of his eyes dwindling away under a wave of absolute black.

“Don't stare at me like that, you creeper,” Sam slurred, body squirming and back arching off the sofa uncomfortably.

Dean's lips curled into a soft smile. “Why?”

“'Cause it squicks me out, okay? I... I'm not what someone like you should look at. Not someone beautiful like you, you know. I-I'm not... good enough.”

The look on Dean's face went from brazen to hurt, but he didn't say anything, just lowered his head instead to rest it above Sam's heart.

“Sammy,” he sighed, almost choking on how good his brother's name tasted on his tongue and slowly he dragged his hand down the boy's flanks. Counting the strong, firm ribs, he let his fingertips trace a tender path across the pliant warmth of Sam's belly until he could rest the large span of his hand over the soft swell.

“I love you, Sammy,” Dean sighed again as he listened to the heart beneath his ear, skipping a beat or two at his words. “And I love you whole and complete, with flabby thighs and all of this.” Gesturing on Sam's stomach and lower body, Dean shoved himself a little deeper yet to nuzzle his whole face into the soft, tender flesh of Sam's belly.

He knew how silken and creamy the skin there was, how sweet it smelled, how good it tasted. He knew how the tiny bulge felt against his own stomach when they lay flush under the covers. He knew how warm these parts of Sam always were, his core, his very center, the one place of his body so very close to the boy's beating, fluttering heart.

Feeling his own chest constrict with affection, Dean couldn't help but press his lips against the thin cotton of the shirt, trailing a row of warm, prickling kisses right across Sam's stomach, not missing his rounded waist or the tiny cavern of his belly button.

“Dean, please,” Sam whispered, voice raw and the look on his face so vulnerable. “Don't make me believe your words. You can't mean that,”

The smile on Dean's lips was soft as he continued to pepper his brother's body with soft kisses. “But I do, baby brother. I so _do._ ”

“How?”

Skimming his fingers softly up and down Sam's flanks, Dean pushed himself up again to lower his own, heavy weight on top of his brother's stilling body. “I don't know, I just do,” he slurred, dropping his forehead against Sam's. “But come to think of it, it was the easiest thing I've ever done.”

“You're a terrible liar,” the boy replied heavily, but smiled until the dimples appeared on his round, tear-stained cheeks. “But I'll believe you for tonight. 'Cause I'm a good brother.”

Nodding, Dean cupped Sam's face with rough hands. “Yeah. Yeah, you are, Sammy.” And with a soft smile he leaned in, capturing his little brother's lips with his while they both reveled in the sensation of how perfectly their bodies fit together.

Sam's chubby and Dean's scrawny one– two pieces of the same whole.

**Author's Note:**

> **Chubby!Sam in knitted sweaters is so important. (▰˘◡˘▰) *:･ﾟ✧**


End file.
